


The Secret of the Sea

by Anonymous



Category: Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Bottom Ethan Nestor, Developing Friendship, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Krymménos, Light Angst, Light hurt, M/M, Mark's Fear of the Ocean, Mermaid Dicks (?), Mermaid Ethan Nestor, Mermaid!Ethan, Mythology - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soft Boys, Tails, Top Mark Fischbach, Trust Issues, blood mention, hand holding, learning to speak, light injury, mythological creatures, soft boys in love, trust building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After a failed relationship Mark moves out to the coastal house he bought whilst under the assumption he was getting married to the love of his life. Condemned to live there until he can find a buyer and move back to L.A, he's determined to make the most of it.A chance find on the beach might just change his life forever.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 33
Kudos: 152
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> As always; this work is not intended in any disrespect to the persons depicted or their real lives and relationships. Please do not send this work to any of the people mentioned or any of their friends, family or representatives. This work is entirely fiction and intended to be a creative depiction.  
> -JJH
> 
> Inspiration for Ethan's tail [here](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcQLAnJwS6-8m2U6EUFw8mXA3E6iWrWepJnG6Q&usqp=CAU)

He fucking hated the ocean. 

It was big, volatile and deceiving. Humans had explored less of the ocean than they had space, and of the two the ocean was not the potentially infinite space. 

It was a being in its own right, uncontrollable and Mother to all manner of things. He had no desire to ever be in it, and even lounging on the beach often filled his mind with horrible images of the sea rising up in one giant wave, sweeping him out and claiming him into the darkness. 

There's nothing good about the ocean and he fucking _hates_ it and yet; here he is, at his new oceanside property, roaming the rocky, desolate outcrop off to one side of the beach, peering into rockpools and lugging along a bucket that clacked and clicked with shells and pretty, white stones. 

It was for his porch, okay? Amy had insisted on a house with a fucking porch and now he was stuck with the bastard thing. It was plain and white and he hated looking at it, so he'd painted it black and now he was going to stick shells all over it, to give it a more rustic, sea-y vibe and to give him something to do to fill the days while he tried to organise selling his house out in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, with the nearest town four miles out across the countryside. 

He can't wait to go home. 

Its only been nine days, but he already feels set to fling himself off the cliff like a lemming. The house was a shell, empty and filled with the echoes of the life he _should_ be living. The wife that wasn't there, the weightlessness of a ring he no longer wore and the cold sheets on the other side of the bed in the morning. It was like being haunted by it, teased every time he looked at his mug collection of the camera roll of his phone. 

He kicked a rock and rounded the corner carefully, mindful of the slippery seaweed that coated the rocks. He stopped short and whistled softly, setting his bucket down to observe the scene before him. The segment of rocky beach here was smaller, a crescent moon of rocks and grey sand that climbed into into the steep face of the small cliff before it. At some point a portion of the cliff must've fallen down, because rocks sprawled out towards the water and clumps of dead grass clung to chunks of dirt that hadn't yet been broken apart by the lapping waves. 

He raised a hand to his brow to squint against the misty sunlight. There was something shimmering off in the distance, up against a large rock. Glass, perhaps. Or metal, washed ashore or left behind by locals. He supposed he could drag it back up to the house if it was small enough, find some place proper to dump it. He might despise the ocean but he had no desire to see it polluted and its life harmed. The walk to the object was steady enough, arms out for balance and hopping agilely over any rocks he deemed safe enough. 

He was a short way off the object when he realised it was neither glass nor metal. It looked almost like fabric, a thick roll or stuffed with something. Someone's dress, maybe, though the more he squinted at it the less and less it looked like anything he could think of. It was varying shades of blue, from rich royal to almost cyan. It was pinned by the rock and dropped off into what he supposed was a large rockpool, and as he padded closer he became more and more unsure of what it was. 

It looked almost like a tail. Thinner fin-like blue spread out like spilled water over the rocks and sand, a large fan that he wagered spanned the width of his outstretched arms. It was streaked with shades of blue and trailed off into thin tendrils on each corner, pinned beneath a large rock. Where it sloped and became thicker was the same shade range, a shimmering each time the sunlight caught it. 

He stepped closer. 

It _was_ a tail. 

Someone's costume or prop. He barked a laugh then jerked back when the object moved, jerking feebly. He almost dropped his bucket and scrambled to set it down, lest his haul go flying. The prop/costume jerked again, weaker than the last, accompanied by a slight splash. 

Trapped wildlife, perhaps. A fish or sea creature tangled up in someone's waste. 

He hated people. He hated the ocean. Saving that fucking thing might mean having to take it right down to the water's edge. But he couldn't leave it there to die either, and after a moment of internal struggle he pressed forwards. 

Several things became of immediate notice. 

One, was that the rockpool was actually _quite_ large. It had to be at least eight foot all around, and about a three feet deep, give or take a little, though the water within only seemed to reach about two, maybe two and a half of that. Secondly, the object _was_ a tail. A scaled, dried-out tail that shimmered in the sunlight and draped down into the water, where two other sets of fins floated lacklustre and lifeless. Fins attached to more tail, which in turn attached to a trim, slender waist. Pale skin stretched over lithe muscle, a little pink from sunburn and spanning a very human male body. 

"The fuck kinda cosplay," he barked out, strangled as he jerked away from the teenage male. The figure twisted, revealing a pretty, youthful face and a mop of dark hair before sharp little teeth bared and the guy _hissed_ at him.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" he added, heel slipping in the shifting sand. He gave up and sank down onto his ass at the ledge of the pool, staring down as the male struggled weakly to rise onto his elbows, hissing at him again. The tail jerked besides him and Mark turned his head to look at it warily.

It was good quality, whatever it was. Silicone? Perhaps some sort of compound. He let his gaze drop back down to the other man, honing in on where it joined to his upper body. Seamless, more or less. The scales thinned out into blue-tinged skin that in turn faded into normal skin. He wavered the blue was mesh or thinner silicone, maybe even glued down with SFX glue. 

"What the _fuck,_ " he whispered, largely to himself as the teen continued to hiss and glower, straining in the shallow water to lean away from him, despite the good four or so feet between them already. The male's eyes were bright blue, almost opalescent as they eyed each other. When the other guy didn't seem likely to start the conversation, Mark cleared his throat awkwardly. 

"Alright, uh. So...What? This a hobby of yours? You're one of those kid's party performers? Why haven't you just..." He trailed off as he turned his gaze back to the fins spread out next to him. Beneath the rock, red liquid had seeped and spread and dried, crumbly and flaky and marring the bright hues of blue. 

It looked an awful lot like blood. 

He turned his gaze back to the man. _Boy_ , really. He could be no more than his middle twenties at a stretch, sharp jawed and face free of wrinkles and lines. He was muscular in a natural way, not bulky but more refined, toned in the manner of someone who worked out frequently. 

He hadn't stopped hissing, either. Cheeks pink and eyes wild, he was baring pointed little teeth like his life depended on it, braced in the water as far away as his trapped tail could get him. Mark heaved a sigh and shifted onto his knees, leaning forwards to extend a hand. Fine, this weirdo wanted to continue his little play pretend? He wasn't gonna make him talk. But he couldn't have leaving some moron to drown on his conscious. 

The boy hissed again, louder and more jagged, straining away from his extended hand with a glower. He writhed again, hands flattening on the base of the rock pool as he tried to push himself further away. His struggled cut short with a gurgled whimper and Mark frowned, leaning back. His gaze was drawn back to the rock and the fin pinned beneath it, and he blinked when he realised the redness closest to the rock was glistening and wet. 

Fresh. 

He reached out slowly, brows furrowing. He ignored the man's additional hissing as he touched his fingers to the fin, jerking his hand back in surprise. It didn't feel like silicone. It almost felt...Fleshy. Like it would have been perhaps slimy if it was wet. His fingertips were smattered with red and slick, the fluid shiny in the sunlight when he turned his hand for inspection. His heart thumped in his chest as he looked at it, throat dry as he rubbed his fingers together. It smelt coppery and rusty when he sniffed at it lightly, and he turned his gaze back to the boy in the rockpool. 

Any human would just wriggle on out of a costume and set about moving the rock. Any human would have called for help or spoken to him the moment they saw him. And no costume would bleed like this, unless the man's toes were trapped beneath the rock. He set his shaking hand down against his thigh and looked at the tail again. Costume tails - at least from what he knew - were tight fitting and did not have any padding to hide the shape of the knees and heels. This tail seemed thick all around and bending in places no set of legs should, unless the man had broken every bone from hip to ankle. 

"Okay. I'm going fucking crazy. And so have you. If you want my help, you're gonna have to speak," he laughed shakily, pushing himself to his feet. The rock wasn't _huge_ , but it was certainly sizeable. He wasn't sure if he could get enough resistance in the sand to be able to push it, but he could damn well try before he had to set about trying to find someone who could winch it away or help him push it. He set his hands on his hips as he surveyed it, already doing the mental maths of the possible weight and what he could do to make rolling it easier. 

The boy hissed at him again. 

"That's getting real old, man," Mark muttered at him, frowning as he set his hands on the rock. Weirdo or not he couldn't just _leave_ the guy here, especially not if he was injured. The rock was rough and not at all pleasant when he set his palms against it, digging his heels into the sand. "Alright. I'm gonna count to three, then push. If you toes are under there, man, you better pull 'em out quick," Mark announced, gritting his teeth as he got himself into a stable, ready stance. 

"One. Two. _Three_!"

He _pushed_. His heels dug into the sand and began to sink and the muscles in his arms, well refined as they were, bulged and tensed. The man's hissing became a high, garbled sound of pain as the rock shifted in the sand, dragging over the fin beneath it. The water in the rockpool splashed as the teenager writhed and shifted, jerking as he tried to claw his way further across the pool. Mark grunted and shifted lower, trying to lift the rock at the same time as rolling. It was slow going, but eventually the rock was clear, and he caught a glimpse of red-stained, torn blue before the fin and the rest of the tail slapped down into the water, sending a wave splashing up and over his shoes. 

He let go of the rock and slumped down, breathing slightly laboured as he looked into the water. The man had shifted as far away from him as possible, huddled in the low water of the pool. The grey-blue water was slowly turning ruddy around the fin. When he glanced down and looked at the sand, it was streaked and murky with russet red-brown. His eyes widened and he crouched near the edge of the rockpool, peering into the shallow depth, feeling vaguely sick. 

There was no way. 

These things weren't real. 

_Mermaids_ were not real. 

So why did the tail move like that? And why was a thing that was not flesh bleeding from a wound, the 'skin' of the fin torn almost completely in half down the middle and shredded with little tears, the thin membrane floating and rippling lifelessly in the cold water, like silk. The teen had hunkered down, back pressed against the opposite edge of the rockpool, tail drawn up protectively. Where his 'knees' should show as a more pointed mound, there was nothing but the smooth slope of flesh, unbroken and unshaped by limbs. 

He stood up, turned around, and walked the entire way back to the cabin.

He was tired. That was it. Tired, a little chilly and a lot depressed. He was hallucinating or something, and he laughed angrily at himself as he sipped a mug of coffee to warm up, leaning against the kitchen counter and staring out of the window at the grass and sloping walkway towards the beach. Or maybe it really was some weird ass guy, _really_ into the whole cosplay thing.

He wouldn't put it past a quiet, rural community like this to have at least one crackhead in their midst. No town was perfectly idyllic and normal. Point in hand; the cashier at the gas station had said 'watch out up there. The sea might look back at you' when he'd paid for his tank. 

He shook his head and picked up his phone, moving into the main room where he settled down on the couch and tucked up his legs, looking blankly around at the multitude of boxes and empty packaging littering the room. It didn't even occur to him that he'd left his bucket there until he blinked and realised it was dark and his mug was cold and empty in his hand. 

Ah, well. 

He'd go look for it tomorrow. Maybe he was lucky and the shells would weight it down, stop the tide sweeping it out to sea. He let out a sigh and set his mug aside, pushing himself to his feet and heading upstairs. It took him forever to find the box with the other clean towels, too lazy and distracted to focus much on laundry this past week. He was loathe to unpack more than necessary, but the hot water of the shower helped to relax him, working with the full day of fresh air to leave him relaxed and sleepy as he collapsed onto the large, empty bed. 

He didn't bother setting an alarm, rolling onto his back to complete the customary hour or so of staring blankly at the ceiling before he succumbed to exhaustion and was pulled into the darkness of sleep. 

He snuffled awake somewhere around nine in the morning, rubbing blearily at his eyes as he rolled over and checked his phone. There was a message from Wade asking about the new house, and a message from Amy's Mother, checking in on him yet again. He replied to neither, setting his phone down and shuffling into the kitchen to answer the call for caffeine.

Two cups of coffee and some eggs with hot sauce later, he settled back down on the couch with his hotspot and laptop, trawling through the agency sites and listing pages. Moving house was a fucking nightmare, and trying to sell this place and move back to L.A and get a job all at the same time and within a reasonable space of each other was somehow _worse_ than a nightmare. 

It was around one in the afternoon when he made a disgusted noise and pushed his tech aside, rising in search of lunch. He still had half a sandwich left over from the day before so he ate that, leaning against the countertop and staring out of the window. There'd been a storm just before he'd arrived. It stood to reason whatever he'd 'seen' yesterday had just been debris and crap washed ashore, and he'd been so tired he'd envisioned this entire scenario. 

He should've gotten laid before coming out here. 

With a weary sigh he dressed, brushed his hair and teeth, and after tugging on his walking boots made his way back down the sloping hill path towards the shore. It was a little windier today, but no less comfortably neutral as he trudged down the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets. When he advanced on the beach the tide was further in that it had been, and he stopped warily at the top of the path downwards to the sand. The water was calm, but his heart still began to thump heavily with the sight of the water, with the memory of red stained fingertips and a hundred hues of blue. 

He pushed on. He wasn't some fucking baby, and he felt angry at himself for allowing something as simple as the ocean being in his general vicinity or some strange dream/hallucination to slow him down. The top-most part of the beach was still dry and he padded along the sand, stopping here and there to pick up a handful of shells. If the sea had claimed his bucket (if he'd even been here last night in the first place) then he might as well start a new collection. 

The closer he got to the second, more secreted away part of the cove the more his heart thumped and his throat dried. This was it - Make it or break it. If he rounded the corner and saw fuck all there, he was booking himself into the closest thing this town had to a psychiatrist the moment he got the chance. 

He turned the corner and let out a strangled sound, fist tightening around the shells so harshly several of them cracked and crumbled, poking sharply into his palm. 

He could see the rockpool from here, same as he could last night. Except now instead of a large, blue tail flopping over its edge it was a torso, starkly pale against the earth toned landscape. It looked as though the boy had tried to crawl out of the rockpool, getting as far as laying over its edge before giving up. From his hips down that same thick tendril of blue trailed off into the depths of the water, shimmering in the sunlight as though someone had coated him in glitter. 

_"Fuck,"_ he muttered, with feeling, and set off at a loping jog across the rocks and sand. The closer he got the more he could see that the boy had clearly struggled. The sand around where he lay had been gauged and disturbed, and his hands and arms were pink with scrapes and dried blood. At the soft crunching of his footsteps the boy twitched but did not otherwise move, draped over the edge of the rockpool with his tail limp in the water. He slid to a halt a few paces away, chest heaving but not from the labour of the run. 

Okay. 

So. 

There was a chance this guy was either _batshit fucking crazy_ and needed to be taken to a safe, padded room, or...

Or this was a real life, not made up, completely right there _mermaid_. 

He barked out a shaky and short laugh, stunned at himself, and the boy twitched again, head turning in the sand until one bright eye looked at him warily. There was none of the thrashing and moving from the day before, just weak exhaustion. For a brief moment Mark wondered how long the boy had been there before he'd come across and found him. Days at the least; Mark had only _really_ begun to explore this part of the cove yesterday on his quest for shells. At the reminder he unclenched his fist and let the shards fall to the sand, glancing back to find his bucket exactly where it had been left the day before. 

He'd lost his fucking mind. Somewhere between calling off the engagement and moving out to this backwater, middle-of-butt-fuck-nowhere town, he'd dipped his toes in crazy. 

The other man (?) didn't move as he approached, his chest heaving with deep, regular breaths. His gaze was tired and wary, and all he seemed able to muster when Mark came closer was a rattled hiss. He looked dry again, save for the tail that draped down into the water. The same as on his front the scales tapered off sparser then thinned out into blue skin that faded into milky-peachy flesh. A slender back sloped up into lithely muscled shoulders off, the skin there tinged pink from the light but persistent sunshine of the day. He stepped closer and that seemed to be the threshold of the man's limits, because he hissed again and shifted, fingers digging into the sand as he dragged himself forwards. He squirmed and writhed weakly, tail flopping about. He managed about another two feet of distance before collapsing again. 

Mark couldn't stop staring at the tail. It flopped around as the boy moved, slapping against the sand, fins fanning out then getting clumped under the gritty surface. It was thick, meaty and muscular, and there seemed to be no seams, zips or anything else that alluded to it having the ability to come off. He dragged his gaze down to the largest fin at the base, where it was tinged ever so slightly with dried blood, a large tear running vertically down it from the rock. 

"Okay. Now or never. I touch that thing and its _real_ , and I'm...I'm gonna...I'll..." What, exactly? Call what amounted to the area's police force and tell them he'd found a mermaid? Fuck that. He tossed aside the thought for a moment, steeling himself for he marched across the gap between them, ignoring the hissing. He threw himself into a crouch and shot out a hand, palm falling against dried out scales and the muscle beneath it, sliding over an area slightly slimy-wet where it hadn't fully dried yet. The man howled, twisting on his elbows. The tail jerked beneath him and flicked, hitting him square in the chest and sending a flurry of sand around them as he sucked in a breath, driven back onto his ass by the force. 

_"Fuck!"_ he yelled, slapping a hand against the sand as the man curled away from him, alternating between hissing and panting as they eyeballed each other. That hadn't been silicone. Not by a long shot. Which meant...He burst out laughing, a sound that seemed to startle the man (mermaid!). The creature peered at him almost curiously, alarmed but undeniably interested in the sound, though still wary of him. Covered in sand and dried out he looked a mess, hair stringy and shaggy around his temples as he curled his tail up as much as he could get it, almost like he was offended by the fact that Mark had touched it. 

He lost track of how long he sat there, staring while being stared at, desperately trying to process this event in his mind. Mermaids were real. So what else real? Unicorns? The Loch Ness Monster? Magic? Was this merely evolution? Did Area 51 have aliens? He felt nauseas by the time he blinked and re-focused on the boy, who had sprawled back out in the sand, eyes half-closed and clearly exhausted. _Didn't mermaids die if they dried out?_ He wondered with a jolt, cursing softly and pushing himself up onto his knees. He couldn't find this creature and save it from starving to death only to let it die out on the sand where anyone could come across it. 

But its tail was injured and it looked weak and starving. If he dragged it out to the ocean now....What if it just died there? Several more long moments passed and he made a decision, waggling a hand slightly to catch the creature's attention. "Hey," he greeted, keeping his voice as gentle and as soft as it could go. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I want to help. You need water" he coaxed, slowly pointing to the rockpool behind them. The mermaid eyed him levelly, but did risk a quick glance over its shoulder, following the line of his finger to the rockpool before looking back. It did nothing but stare at him blankly in response. 

He kept talking, kept his hands open and visible as he ever so slowly rose into a crouch. The mermaid bared its teeth and hissed softly, fingers curling into the sand but not attempting to move. Its energy seemed to have failed it, and he wondered just how long it had been without food or proper 'air', how long it could plausibly survive in a singular space of stagnant water. Much less how long it could survive there in the sand. 

How was it even breathing? 

God, he suddenly wished he was a marine biologist or something. He itched to _know_. He forced himself to sideline the curiosity keeping his voice light, like soothing a spooked horse. It was killing his hips and thighs to shuffle-crawl crouched like this, but any sudden movement could send the man into another flurry. When he deemed he was close enough to be able to get a good grip on the end of his tail, he pointed to the rockpool again.

"You need that, huh? You need that water? I think you do. I also think you're gonna be _really_ pissed about what happens next," he rumbled soothingly, taking in a deep breath and rolling his shoulders. 

Now or never. 

Thank God for all those months he'd spent in the gym with Alex to look good in his wedding photos. His hands hovered in the space between them, trembling ever so slightly as he did a quick mental calculation of the estimated weight, effort and distance. Assuming the tail was the same type of 'meat' as normal fish and assuming the bones of the tail (if it had any) were dense enough to compensate for the mass and structure...

He took another steadying breath, dug his heels into the sand and lunged for the creature's tail. He had the element of surprise on his side and the fact that the creature was weakened. He almost let go of its tail right away when his hands closed over its slimmest point, scales sliding against his palms and fingers as he got a good grip and leaned back on his haunches, pulling with all his might. 

The mermaid yowled at him, startled for a moment before it hissed and clawed at the sand, trying to stop itself from sliding along the grainy surface. Weak as it was it was still surprisingly powerful and Mark slipped several times when it began to thrash its tail, desperately trying to shake him off, though it didn't try to attack him. Only escape. He groaned as he heaved, yelling out an expletive as his arms and spine began to ache almost immediately.

Still, he was a strong specimen and it worked to his advantage as he dragged the mermaid through the sand, back to the rockpool where his heel slipped against the edge of it and he stopped, letting go of the mermaid and collapsing off to the side, out of the scope of that flopping appendage as he heaved for breath. 

The mermaid eyed him with sheer anger and fear, hissing at him and curling in on itself. It stayed that way for a long time and so did Mark; the two of them staring at each other until the mermaid broke it briefly, looking back out to the sea with a forlorn gaze. Mark followed suit, sat on his ass with his knees bent up and his forearms resting on them, panting as he watched the waves rolling in to shore. The tide didn't reach this far, the rockpool formed only after a storm had pushed water higher up and into a pool formed by packed sand and rocks. 

He wondered if the mermaid had any family out there. Wondered immediately how many others were out there. How many species; how many types; were they all the same colour? Did they vary in skin and scale like actual fish and humans?

He heaved to his feet and the mermaid hissed at him again, the sound turning into a cat-like snarl as Mark approached. He didn't bother with niceties this time, stepping straight into the far side of the rockpool and planting his heel against a shelf of rock, reaching out for the mermaid's tail. The creature tried to flop its tail out of the way but Mark was quicker for once, and with one last heave of strength he dragged the creature backwards and over the edge of the pool. It toppled in with a huge splash that soaked them both through and scrabbled at the edge of the pool for a moment before it twisted to face him as he hopped out of the water, curling itself back up into a distrustful ball and eyeing him mulishly. 

He sank cross legged into the sand and wiped salt water from his eyes, taking a deep breath of bitter, fresh air. He looked out to the sea and its broiling waters, then looked back to the creature. 

"I'll get you fixed up, and then I'll help you get home," he promised it softly. If it could understand him, it said nothing in reply. 


	2. The First Tendrils of Trust

The sky was dark by the time he made his way back to the house, reluctant to leave but knowing he'd freeze if he stayed. The mermaid had only gotten so far into its escape the night before, so cruelly he wasn't all that worried about it making it all the way down to the ocean tonight. 

He needed to eat something. Maybe have a few stiff drinks. He needed to pull up his laptop and find out all he could on the available mythology of mermaids. Then...

Then he supposed he needed to take a trip into the main village. The mermaid had to eat something, and he was no fisherman. Nor was he stepping one fucking foot out into the depths of the ocean. If it came to having to fish for shit, he'd pay someone in the village to do it. This backwater shithole was full of old men with boats, one of them was bound to be open to a little extra work. He'd say he had a cat or something. Or that he was a pescatarian. The tiny strip of coast and cove was treated respectfully as 'belonging' to the house on the hill regardless, so it wasn't like anyone was going to come marching up and find a mermaid in his back yard. 

He ate a quick slap-up of friend eggs and oven-cooked chips and settled on his bed with his laptop and a large thermos of coffee, leaning back against the headboard as he opened up several tabs, feeling foolish as he typed in various searches. Several pages in he pulled up his notepad app and wrote down anything he thought had a grain of truth or could potentially be applied to the existence of a mermaid; including behaviour, variants, scale care and diet. He found himself on a deep spiral, coming across some truly perplexing and strange sites and conspiracies and by the time he shut the laptop the sun was peeking weakly through the curtains. 

Resigning himself to another shitty sleep he settled down and managed five hours of light, broken sleep, dreaming of blue scales glittering underwater and bright, intelligent eyes. He opened his eyes to his phone ringing and rolled over wit a groan, feeling the tentative tendrils of a headache worming their way along the edges of his skull. He rubbed at his eyes and moved blindly for his phone, slapping at it without looking and bringing it to his ear as he turned his cheek into his pillow. 

"Hullo?" He huffed, voice grit and gravel. There was a pause on the end of the line, and then;

"Well you sound like shit". 

He huffed a soft chuckle and rolled over onto his back, laying the phone on the pillow by his ear as he stared up at ceiling. "Hello, Tyler". 

"Hey, man," Tyler's voice sounded warm and fond, tinged with the wistful regret that came each time you spoke to someone you rarely saw anymore. Back when he'd lived in L.A (and didn't that suddenly feel like a lifetime ago?) they'd lived a mere fifteen minutes from each other. Now he didn't even know how far away he was, but he felt every mile between himself and the life he threw away for a wedding that never happened. 

"How're you doing? The new place treating you okay?" Tyler asked after a pause in which they both basked in the luxury and familiarity of each other's voices. 

"Uh, yeah. I mean, its basically a fuckin' retirement home. Didn't know what we were thinking, buying a place one step from the fucking Scottish moors, but. Its alright. Doesn't leak and barely creaks. I'm surrounded by the ocean and old people, though. This is the kind of place I imagine I'd go if I was ready to die". He wouldn't; if he ever knew he was going to die he'd go somewhere beautiful. Somewhere vibrant, but it made Tyler laugh all the same and that lifted his spirits. 

"You're the one that agreed to buy it, man" his friend sighed. "But, anyway. I'm glad you're only _mostly_ hating it, not _entirely_ hating it".

That sparked a burst of laughter, and he and Tyler passed a good chunk of time talking before he glanced at his cast aside laptop and abruptly remembered that he ought to head back down to the cove to check if the mermaid was still there. Or even still alive, for that matter. He reluctantly bid his friend goodbye and staggered to the shower to wash out the salt water and sand from the day before, making a reluctant note to wash his bedding later on in the evening when he had the chance. His fridge was mostly empty when he opened it, but he had two rashers of bacon and two sausages left so he ate those and got dressed for the outdoors. 

It was beginning to feel like part of his routine already; trudging down the long path and stepping onto the soft give of the sand. It was a little breezier today and the air carried with it a slight chill that nipped his cheeks. He wondered if the mermaid felt the cold, or if he was cold-blooded enough that his natural temperature lay in the lower regions. As he rounded the corner of the rock face that would give way to the section of cove where the rockpool lay his heart began to tick faster, pounding at his chest. He stepped around it just enough to catch a glimpse of the sand stretch, a squint of blue in the distance. 

He waited. 

After a long while the speck of flesh and blue moved, shifting restlessly in the rockpool. His wager had paid off - The creature was too weak to drag itself all the way down to the ocean. Satisfied, he turned on his heels and headed back up the hill, walking straight up to his car and slipping inside. The steering wheel was frigid to the touch and the seat was annoyingly cold but he put the heating on full blast and flicked on some smooth rock and turned the car's nose towards the town.

The drive was restless, fingertips drumming on the wheel as he watched the green scenery go by. His gaze kept drifting to the coast as he passed it, wondering if there was a set of mermaid parents out there missing their son. 

The town was much the same as it was the last time he'd been here. Full of older people who'd formed a tight knit community he was decidedly on the outside of. Not unwelcome, but out of the loop. They were friendly enough, but his own situation had bred a deliberate plan to simply get the fuck out as soon as he could. It didn't make him unfriendly in turn, he just...Didn’t make much of an effort to actually forge any familiarity with the locals. He was well mannered but he had no interest in getting to know people he had every intention of leaving at the first possible opportunity.

He stopped at the grocery store first. His own fridge needed stocking up and he wasn't keen on starving to death while trying to nurse a mermaid back to health. Nor was he particularly keen on losing the figure he'd gained from Alex's gruelling workout sessions. So he grabbed a cart and perused the aisles, loading up on vegetables and meat. Packaged fish was stored in the same aisle as the meat and he lingered there, eyeing the various items on offer. Salmon, haddock, crab meat, mussels in little plastic buckets of brine. Whole shrimp and prawns. He rubbed at his facial hair and wondered idly what kind of sea creatures were in the Pacific. 

Was the mermaid even from the Pacific? Was it only here because it had been travelling? Did they migrate? 

With a groan he tugged his phone out from his pocket and quickly googled what marine life could be found in the Pacific. It took him five minutes and getting huffed at by three different people for blocking the way, but eventually he had some semblance of what he ought to be looking for. He loaded in some mackerel, salmon, tuna and squid. There were shrimp in the clearance section along with two cans of tuna and a rather battered looking cutlet of haddock, so he put those in too.

He supposed one perk of living in such an out of the way place was that everything was so vastly cheaper than it was back in the main heart of LA. A grocery load like this would rinse him of upwards of $100 out there, but here it had only cost him $78.43 for the cart. The cashier that scanned his groceries blinked across at him beadily, eyeing the items as he packed them into his bags. 

"Should eat more fish," she croaked at him as he pulled out his card. He paused, looking up at her in confusion. When he said nothing in reply, she tapped the scanner to indicate he could pit his card into the chip reader. "Fish is good for the body and soul" she continued. "All the goods bits'a the ocean in 'em. And freedom. Plenty of freedom in a fish," she noted. 

"Freedom?" He echoed in bewilderment, taking his card and the receipt when they were handed to him. She nodded at him solemnly, then turned away to greet the woman who'd loaded her groceries up behind him, leaving him to hoist the bags onto his arms and stride back to his car, still trying to dissect the conversation. He got her general point, but that...Was not really how the laws of life worked.

Once the groceries were stuffed into the trunk he sat behind the wheel, flexing his fingers around it and laughing lightly to himself. Eat fish to gain freedom. That was an American slogan if ever he'd heard one. Bemused, he started up the car and turned back for the house, apprehension and reality sinking in with each turn of the tyres. 

There was a mermaid waiting for him back at the cove. 

Well. Not waiting for him like some sort of Juliet. The creature was sooner likely to smash him in the face with that colossal tail that he was to perk up at the sight of him, but...Maybe a little food in his belly would change that. And eating helped the body to heal, so. By logic the sooner the mermaid's tail healed, the sooner Mark could get him back out to the sea. 

He let his foot lift off the gas a little, blinking. _Huh_. He hadn't even _thought_ about the possibility of calling someone. Telling someone. The police, maybe. A senator or the President. Whoever the fuck you called when you found a mermaid on what equated to your front lawn. He'd just straight away dedicated himself to returning the man to where he belonged. Perhaps it was subconscious; he knew if the right (wrong?) people got hold of the mermaid, it was all over for him. He'd be taken away, tested on, maybe even tortured. He'd never see the outside world again, unless they put a tracker in him and set him free so he'd lead them straight to the others. 

It had been a moral decision he'd made without even needing to process it, and he mulled over that thought as he pulled up outside his house. The first port of call (fucking ocean references) was to unload his groceries and put them away before his fridge-ables got too warm. It didn't take him too long to get everything squared away and settled, and he made himself a thermos of coffee as he unpacked a cutlet of salmon, a handful of shrimp, a cutlet of mackerel and a cutlet of squid.

Better to only waste a little if the mermaid didn't like any of it, and better to take a variety in case the mermaid had preferences. He put them all into a small, snap-clasp lunchbox and washed his hands, then stuffed himself back into his boots and his coat. 

The mermaid looked haggard and exhausted when he approached, curled over the edge of the rockpool with his head cradled in his folded arms. Judging by the sand around the rockpool he'd tried to pull himself back out at least once, but Mark supposed the creature had gone upwards of five days without food, and that had clearly taken its toll. Almost hilariously the mermaid narrowed its eyes at him when he approached, pushing himself away from the edge of the rockpool and sinking back into the murky water where it curled up again.

"Yeah, hello to you too," Mark greeted, crouching down to test the wetness of the sand before he gingerly sat down, setting his thermos aside. The mermaid looked wary but undeniably curious, pinning him with a gaze that screamed _don't come closer_ and _what is that_ simultaneously. 

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say coffee is bad for you. Its not good for _anyone_. But...Hopefully _this_ might put a little light back in your eyes," he announced, keeping his voice as gentle as he could as he held the box aloft, petting at it to hopefully show the mermaid that it wasn't anything harmful or painful. He opened it slowly, cringing when the mermaid spooked at the loud snapping sound the clasps made as he popped them off one by one.

"Hey, hey now. You're okay. Its just sound. See? Just sound," he explained, popping and un-popping a clasp several times over, until the mermaid stopped spooking and instead began to look somewhat unamused by the whole scenario. It wasn't until he lifted the lid off and set it aside that the creature seemed to perk up a little, sniffing at the air lightly. Mark gave a slow smile and tipped the lunch box forwards so the mermaid could see the slimy wads of fish that lay inside. 

"I'll bet you're real hungry, huh? I know I get pretty burnt out if I don't eat. You think maybe this might sweeten you up to me a little?" He asked, pulling a face as he reached into the box, fingertips sliding over slimy, wet salmon fillet to grab a few prawns. He really should have brought a wetwipe. Huffing, he tossed the prawns into the rockpool, heartstrings tugging when the creature shied away from them at first like he'd expected them to hurt.

It took several long moments for him to unfurl, staring down at the water with wide eyes. The mermaid glanced up, then back down, and did that twice more before one long, lean arm snapped out, snatching a single prawn from where it was floating despondently atop the water. He moved so fast that Mark actually jumped a little, and the mermaid hissed at him before it opened its little fists, staring down at the prawn in its palm. 

He sniffed it, then levelled Mark with a stare much the same as a dog faced with a vegetable when it had been expecting a treat. Mark blinked, then frowned. "Alright. So its not exactly fresh outta the ocean. But I don't currently have a job and I'm not about to go wading out there to hand-pick you snacks," he shot back defensively. "Eat it or go to bed hungry".

The mermaid sat there, scowling at him for several more moments before it let go of the prawn. It fell into the water with a tiny little _plop_ and bobbed back up to the surface, floating away to join its equally rejected brethren. Their staring contest resumed for several more moments, before Mark sighed. 

"Alright. So the prawns are out. Maybe this'll be the golden buzzer," he relented, wrestling with the salmon fillet for several moments before he threw it into the water. The mermaid jerked back again and treated the sinking fillet with the same startled suspicion as the prawns, before it snatched it up, sniffing at it delicately. To Mark's amusement the mermaid actually _sighed_ at him, cradling the fillet as he levelled Mark with a look that clearly conveyed just how unimpressed he was at the menu thus far.

"Well I don't see you bringing anything to the table," Mark pointed out, digging into the lunch box with both hands to hold up the cutlet of squid and the cutlet of mackerel. The mermaid eyed them both critically, lip curling in disdain before he seemingly resigned himself to the fact that none of the food on offer was fresh. His mouth opened slowly and he kept a distrustful eye on Mark as he ducked his head, revealing sharp little teeth that took a tentative bite out of the salmon. 

The selection might've been disappointing but the mermaid was _starving_ , and it tore into the cutlet with surprising savagery, swallowing whole mouthfuls and licking its fingers clean of the oils. To Mark's pleasant surprise the mermaid even rummaged through the water for the prawns, swallowing them whole. Mark was so invested in staring that it took several moments for him to realise that he was being stared straight back at; the mermaid occasionally risking a lightening-quick glance down at the lunchbox.

It brought an actual smile to his face, relieved that the mermaid was at least willing to eat. "Okay, this is good" he announced, tossing the rest of the prawns in and letting the mermaid scavenge those up before he tossed in the mackerel. That got an even flatter stare than the salmon had, and the mermaid seemed to do its best to eat in such a manner that let Mark know _exactly_ how much of a necessity it was, rather than an enjoyment. 

The squid received an equally unhappy reception but at the least; the mermaid looked a little more alive and alert once it had something in its stomach. Mark showed it that the box was empty before he reached for his flask, cradling it to keep his hands warm as he watched the mermaid lick its lips and teeth, scanning the rockpool for any scraps that it might have left. He made a mental note to bring a little more with him tomorrow, uncapping his thermos to take a slow sip of coffee.

Did he need to feed the man more than once a day? How much would the mermaid eat on any given day? Reaching up he rubbed at his temples, dropping his head for a moment to take steadying breaths before he looked back up. 

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" He asked slowly, head tipping a little. He received nothing but a blink in response. "Can you talk?" Another blink. He waited a little longer and then sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee, feeling the warmth sinking down his throat and into his gut. Alright. Expected and unsurprising, but a little...Disappointing? He supposed it was probably for the best, though.

It'd be so much weirder to do all of this if the mermaid could talk. It'd be like waking up one day and finding out your dog had a voice. He'd already started speaking to the mermaid like it couldn't really understand him or talk back, so to have it suddenly launch into conversation would be downright mortifying. 

"Alright. So...That's that," he voiced after a moment, but the mermaid was ignoring him now, running his hands over its tail. It took Mark a moment to realise the mermaid was grooming himself, scratching between his scales, smoothing them down and picking at what looked to be something akin to a leech stuck to his hip. The leech thing was sniffed at, licked, then squished and discarded. Grimacing, Mark turned his head away and realised with surprise that his shell bucket was still right where he'd left it. Huffing a soft sound of pleased surprise he moved slowly and carefully, aware of the mermaid watching him as he reached for it and rummaged around through the shells, somewhat soothed by the sound of their clacking and clinking. He pulled out a barnacle shell and ran his thumb over it thoughtfully, lost in his own mind and startled out of it when he heard a soft clicking-burring sound. 

He looked up and around, and realised it must've come from the _mermaid_.

"Did you say something?" He asked it, sitting up a little straighter. The man merely eyed him, before it dropped its gaze to his palms. He followed, rolling the shell around before he held it up. "This? Is this what you want?" He asked, and he was glanced at again, the mermaid's expression still apprehensive but moderately curious, as if it had either never seen a shell before (unlikely, given its habitat) or, more likely, like it was trying to figure out what Mark and his strange limbs could possibly want with it. He looked at it thoughtfully again, before he looked up and flicked the shell into the water. It landed with a _plip-plop_ as it filled with water and sank, and the mermaid looked up at him quizzically before it reached for it, far slower than it had lunged for the food. The shell was inspected, frowned at, and then the mermaid looked up at him with vague irritation and...

Flicked it straight back. 

It landed in the sand by his heels and Mark smiled, surprised into a soft chuckle as he reached for it again. He flicked it back into the water, and the mermaid shot him a look bordering on _what the fuck_ , though it looked infinitely more interested in what he was doing with his face. When his smile had faded and he raised a brow, waiting for the mermaid, the creature sniffed then reached for the shell again, inspecting it for half a second before it tossed it back to him with an air of disinterest.

He laughed again, a light snicker that made the mermaid peer up at him in interest for a moment. He tossed the shell back and the mermaid looked somewhere between perplexed and annoyed, reaching for it without looking. The shell did not get inspected this time, and the mermaid held it for a moment, blinking across at him owlishly before it launched the shell off to the side with a look of disgust. 

"Huh". Mark twisted to watch it sail through the air, disappearing soundlessly off into the rocks and sand. 

That ended that, then. 

"You're a real miserable fucker, you know that?" He pointed out as he took a sip from his thermos, looking down at the liquid as it steamed. That was a thought, actually....The rockpool was enclosed, stagnant. The sea didn't reach this high up, and the mermaid was presumably also drinking from the water, as well as potentially absorbing or deriving oxygen from the water. It was also emptying itself there, which was detrimental in the long run, much like it was harmful to keep fish in tanks.

He leaned forwards slowly and carefully, keeping his gaze on the water as he peered into it. Aside from seaweed, it didn't seem to contain anything else. No little critters or other life, nothing for the mermaid to eat or make much use of. He looked up at the sea thoughtfully. He was sure he had a big bucket somewhere amongst all of his unpacked stuff - He could use it to empty out a little of the water in the pool and replace it with water from the sea. If he did that enough times then eventually the rockpool would be cleaner, fresher. 

Fuck, this was more work and thought than any pet he'd ever owned. Granted; he hadn't really owned that many pets. Not really. He felt he couldn't count the various bugs and critters and wildlife he'd tried to adopt over his childhood years. When he came back to himself the mermaid had apparently deigned to mostly ignore him, still aware and wary both of his presence but seemingly having decided that for the immediate moment he was no threat.

That was a step in the right direction, he figured. He'd realised almost immediately after deciding to release the mermaid that he'd need to earn its trust, if he was going to wrangle it from rockpool to ocean once it was healed enough that he could set it free in the good conscious that it had a good chance of survival. 

"If I release you and you die of infection and wash back up, I'm gonna mount you on my wall like a swordfish," he promised the creature, who looked up at him mid-inspection of its tail. He was blinked at again for several moments, then pink lips parted and that strange clicky-burry sound came again. He frowned a little, tipping his head. 

"Can you do that again?" He asked softly, even though he knew the creature couldn't understand him. Silence passed between them and he took in a breath, doing his best to imitate the sound. What came out wasn't even remotely close, but it _did_ catch the mermaid's attention. The man shifted a little, eyeing him up and down with a slight squint.

For all Mark knew he'd probably just insulted the guy's family or offered himself up for a naked adventure, but he hoped whatever he'd 'said' with the sound wasn't too offensive or stupid. He tried it again, a little louder, was squinted at further before the mermaid shifted slightly, staring at him with round, bright eyes. Mark slowly raised a hand, gesturing to his own throat and making the sound again. 

The mermaid huffed at him, like he was a great inconvenience, but then repeated the sound, louder and firmer, as though trying to clarify it for the human. Mark tried again, but the true nature of the sound alluded him. What he came up with was softer, less rugged and guttural. He supposed the man had different vocal chords, and that a lifetime of speaking a specific language afforded you fluency that a non-native speaker would never be granted. The mermaid seemed largely unimpressed by his attempt, staring across at him as if to say _what now?_

"Now, I guess, I go back and see what freelance editing work is around. Since I'm now paying to feed a family and all," he mused, leaning back and rubbing at his jaw. He supposed he'd have to suspend the house hunt for the moment - It wouldn't do to try and stop potential buyers from scoping out the cove because there was a mermaid stuck in a hole there. Or to have someone wander across him by accident. It was a nuisance and a risk, but one he was willing to take to keep the mermaid a secret from anyone that would bring it harm. 

Who would've thought that proposing to Amy two years ago would've wound him up here?

He let out a long, slow breath and pushed himself to stand. The mermaid watched him with the same vaguely annoyed stare, hissing softly and quietly when he stooped to pick up his things. He elected to ignore that, trusting by now that nothing would really come of it. After a moment he paused and pointed to the ocean. The mermaid followed his gesture, then looked back at him. "No" he stated firmly, shaking his head.

"Not yet. Just...Stay. Here. Stay put. Okay?" He pointed again, shook his head again, then patted the lunch box lightly. 

"I'll come back later," he stated, and turned on his heel, marching back towards the house. There was no noise that followed save the lapping of the ocean. No clicks or burrs or splashes, and when he glanced over his shoulder back at the far end of the cove the mermaid seemed to have gone back to lounging. Satisfied, he pulled out his phone as he trekked back up the hill, opening his notes app and tapping out a reminder to himself to check out the fish market tomorrow. Just as he was about to tuck his phone away it leapt to life in his hand, vibrating and demanding his attention. He turned it over in his palm and stared down at the screen, steps falling to a halt.

Amy. 

It wasn't the first time she'd called him since the engagement was called off, of course. They'd split but it hadn't been hostile, not really, and she'd called him once or twice outside of necessity to ask how he was. She was probably calling today to find out when he could ship over the box of her clothes that had been mixed up with his stuff when he'd been forced to pack up and move here, seeing as they'd already purchased the house. 

Or, rather, _he_ had purchased it. 

He bit his lip and sucked in a sharp breath, looking over his shoulder and back out to the sloping trail. Then he squeezed the power button on his phone, tucked it into his pocket, and kept walking. 


	3. Trust Building (I)

He found some upcoming editing work that would bring in a few extra hundreds and his mood was lifted as he sat cross-legged on his porch, staring out across the landscape and listening to the sounds of the ocean as he ate a bowl of mixed veggies and chicken. It was still so surreal, sitting here and knowing that just around the corner was a real life mermaid. A living, breathing sledgehammer to all that he thought he'd ever know. He wondered again what else was out there. Space was so vast and the ocean was so deep and there were parts of the world nobody had explored yet. 

A thought struck him then. What if the mermaid wasn't a 'natural' thing? What if it had been _made_ , and had escaped? What if there was a fleet of Government ships and planes and trucks on their way?

He was too young to be shot in the back of the head and marked down as a missing person or a suicide. 

Annoyed at himself and the lengths his mind would often go to, he ate the last of his meal and set the dishes in the sink, scooping up the lunch box from earlier and placing half of the fish he had left into it. He'd have to go back to the market tomorrow and really stock up, maybe see about investing in a small freezer. Idly he wondered if he really should buy a fishing rod. There was no fucking way he would go out on a boat, but he could probably manage sitting on the cliffs just fine. He doubted he'd catch much so close to the shore, but it would probably save him a little money, and-

And he was acting like this was going to be a long term thing. Like he intended to keep the mermaid. Frowning, he tugged on his coat. The mermaid's tail hadn't looked _too_ ripped up, and it probably only take the creature a few days of good food before it was strong enough to swim back to wherever it had come from. There was no need for him to leap into long-term planning. All he needed to do was pick up enough fish to last the mermaid a few days and figure out how he was going to get it from the rockpool to the ocean (assuming it didn't just do what it had tried to do two days ago and crawl across the beach). 

Mind occupied, he barely noticed the walk down to the cove. It was second nature already, and he could already see a shallow groove worn into the topmost sand where the water couldn't reach to wash away his steps and where the wind had been too weak to sift coverage over his footfalls. He followed the track and let out a breath he'd subconsciously held in his lungs when he saw the smatter of blue and peach in the distance, still sequestered away in the pit of the rockpool. He was still hissed at upon his approach, but he could've sworn that once the mermaid realised it was him the lurch of panic faded into something akin to annoyance, as if the mermaid was expressing _oh, great. its_ you _again._

"Nice to see you too, bud," he huffed at it, lifting the lunchbox up so the mermaid could see he'd brought more food. That got a marginally more positive reaction, hunger winning out over the creature's irritation with his presence. It was kind of amusing when he thought about it - that the creature who's life he'd saved and was now actively trying to keep saved was treating him like a particularly persistent mosquito.

He snorted at the thought and settled back down into the sand, wishing he'd thought to bring a flask of something warm. The weather had been nice when he'd arrived, but a storm or something had blown across and left the air chilled. The townsfolk said it would pass soon enough, but that meant nothing to Mark and his hot-blooded nature. He longed for the sun of LA, already missing spending the days sweating and tanning. 

He unclasped the box and tossed a few more prawns in, idly humoured when the mermaid sighed once more and reached for them with considerably less speed than the day prior, though he still more or less snatched them from the water, cradling a fist full of fish-meat to his chest as he snarfed down his gains. There was no finesse in his eating, just the same open-shut snapping of the mouth much like a dog would eat. Mark pulled out the yogurt bar he'd stuffed into his pocket before leaving and unwrapped it, acutely aware of the way the mermaid perked up at the crinkling sound, watching attentively with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. 

"Sorry, buddy. You get the slimy stuff, I get the sugary goodness," he remarked, reaching with his free hand for a slimy strip of fish. It slipped between his fingers twice before he got a good hold on it, and he tossed it into the water. It received about as much enthusiasm as the prawns had - which was to say, not at all - but the mermaid reached for it anyway, clutching it between two hands and biting into it. The larger chunks of fish it tore at with its teeth, head twisting side to side in a shark-like or crocodile-like manner. The mermaid didn't take its gaze off him as it ate, and here and there it almost seemed to bite even more harshly into the meat, like it was threatening him. 

"Trust me. The _last_ thing I'm gonna do is try and take that from you," Mark assured him, shaking his head. He liked sushi, sure, but _actual_ sushi. Not a slab of half-eaten fish wrestled from a mermaid's grip. It narrowed its eyes at him regardless, swallowing the last mouthful of fish without even chewing. It was basically a _fuck you_ in mermaid body language, and Mark snorted softly, shaking his head as he used a pointer finger to draw figures in the sand. This was the most company he'd had in three weeks if he didn't count the moving people, and that made him fucking _miserable_. 

Another of those strange, clicky-chirpy noises caught his attention and he looked up. The mermaid was staring straight back at him and for a short while they merely stared at each other, reminiscent of the day prior, before the creature made the noise again, soft but insistent. "Ah," Mark hummed, pretending to understand the one-sided conversation.

"You're talking to me now, huh? You done sulking like a big baby?" He asked, and the mermaid simply stared at him again, before its gaze flicked down to the lunchbox and then back up. He couldn't stop a grin, and he reached into the box, sliding a wet chunk of fish onto his palm. He was about to toss it in when he decided to press his luck, and he carefully shuffled closer to the edge of the rockpool. 

The mermaid hissed at him and he paused for a moment, distracting it by wiggling the fish. "You're okay," he soothed him, voice low and soft. "I'm not gonna touch you, okay? Easy. There we go," he hummed, sitting on the edge of the rockpool.

"Alright. I'm gonna slowly hold this out, okay? If you bite me, I'm gonna be...Respectful of your boundaries, but also kinda pissed". Maybe a little more than pissed since eh didn't even know where his med-kit currently was amongst the stacks of boxes, but that was neither here nor there. He shuffled forwards a little more, impressed if not intimidated by the way that the mermaid hissed again, shoulders squaring defiantly like he was ready to throw hands. 

He probably was, now that he had some food in his belly. 

"Okay. You don't even gotta touch me. Look, I'm holding it right by the edge, okay? You can trust me," he continued, stretching out his arm slowly, slowly. The mermaid squeezed himself right back against the far edge of the pool, water rippling as it curled its tail up closer to itself. It drew his gaze and he was hit with the urge to study it; touch it; watch it move. He wondered again about its composition and hummed lowly to himself as he looked back up. The mermaid was staring at him, and he quickly resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be another of those long staring contests. 

Unless...

He dropped his gaze back down again, contenting himself with watching the way the water rippled. He wasn't afraid of water; not in a general sense. It was just the entire notion of oceans and seas that terrified him. Water in such a quantity that they could only ever _guess_ how vast and how deep it was. Water that eventually blocked out all light, that became _such_ a quantity that its pressure could literally crush him to death. Water that hid things in its depths, things they were nowhere _close_ to understanding. 

Like mermaids. 

Water itself was beautiful. Mark had no problems admiring ponds and lakes, and could see the beauty in the ocean even if he was afraid of it. Oft times he envied those brave enough to sail out in the crystal waters of somewhere tropical - it must be beautiful. Peaceful even, if you could ignore the horrors that lay beneath the pretty veneer. 

He watched the way the more membrane-like fins at the end of the mermaid's tail rippled through the water, floating lightly in its midst. If he had to wager on it he'd say that it spanned somewhere around two foot in width. The fins were darker on the edges and faded into a lighter almost cyan colours the closer it got to the scaled 'meat'. Thicker ridges of what looked like cartilage ran through them, deep blue and adding structure to the tail. The salt water had washed away the majority of the blood and now the fin merely floated, sliced almost clean in half. He wondered if it would seal itself or if the tail would remain that way forever. 

He almost missed the movement at the top of his vision, the hand creeping forwards cautiously. Hunger was evidently winning out over mistrust, and he did his damndest to keep still and not look up. Anticipation crawled down his spine and he held his breath, watching intently. The mermaid had slimmer hands, with long, slender fingers that ended in tiny little claws. Much like near his hips, his fingertips were a lighter blue that fizzled out into the peachy tone of his skin.

Mark was so entranced that he completely forgot the speed at which the mermaid tended to move, and he jerked back in alarmed surprise when the creeping hand suddenly lashed out, snatching the fish from his grasp without ever actually touching him. 

He fell back onto his hands, scrambling away a bare inch before he reined in his reaction and forced himself to still, staring across at the mermaid. The other man had curled up defensively, fish clutched to his chest and tail coiled almost like if Mark made another move he'd find himself slapped with it again. He gave a light cough and forced himself to relax, raising his hands in a show of openness.

"Easy, bud. I'm sorry. That was on me" he soothed, adjusting his position in the sand a little and relaxing further. The mermaid scowled at him and made a low burring sound that Mark took as another verbalised _fuck you_ , before it tore into the fish. 

He didn't try his luck with the next pieces, and instead tossed them into the water. This seemed to suit them both just fine because the mermaid fished them out in disinterest and ate like it was bored, though it still kept giving him suspicious side-eyes. He supposed that was fair - He'd be suspicious too if he found himself in these circumstances. Especially if he'd gotten halfway to freedom before being dragged back to captivity by a creature he'd (presumably) never seen before. 

He wondered if the mermaid recognised that they looked similar. If it connected that they shared features, save from below the waist and small differences like their teeth and their hands. The more he looked at the boy, though, the more he knew he wasn't human. Even from the waist up, now that he knew to look for the differences they were glaringly obvious. Realising he'd been blatantly staring, he turned his gaze away and let it fall on the discarded bucket, before he looked down at the water thoughtfully. No doubt the creature had produced waste in the time he'd been stuck in there. It probably wasn't the cleanest it could be at this point. 

Maybe he could scoop some out, replace it with fresh water. 

He glanced over at the lapping ocean with a frown, then resigned himself to it. It was just this once. Two more days of good food - three at the most - and he could find a way to get the mermaid back into the water. At the least, it was exercise anyway. There was no way he was using that tiny little seaside bucket to do this, so he'd have to walk back up to the house. Then there was the lugging the water water and forth. It'd burn a few calories and work his muscles, and that was good enough for him. 

"You're gonna like me even less by the end of today," he advised the mermaid, and set off. 

It didn't take him too long to find one of his garden buckets in the tiny excuse for a shed that the house had come with, and he hauled it back down to the beach, unsurprised and largely unbothered by the disdain the mermaid greeted him with. The bucket received even less welcome, and the mermaid began a steady, low thrumming sound that bordered on a growl.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're big and scary and you don't like me. Tell me something new," he dismissed, though he kept a wary eye on the mermaid's tail as he sank to a knee at the edge of the rockpool. The bucket wasn't all that big, but it did hold a good two or two-and-half gallons, so hopefully the only thing that would take up a good chunk of his time was the walking back and forth. 

He dropped the bucket towards the water and the mermaid yowled at him, tail jerking in the water, out of the way. The mermaid's hands planted against the rock and it became undeniably defensive, tail lifting towards the edge of the rockpool. He paused warily, eyeing the creature as eh bucket began to fill. That tail packed a punch, and he'd really rather not have moving back to LA delayed further because he'd broken a few of his ribs. He let the bucket fill half-full then moved away, lugging it over to another set of rocks where he let it pour out. He went back, and didn't miss the looked of panic that flashed across the mermaid's face. 

"Hey, easy," he soothed, setting the bucket aside, showing the creature his palms again. "I'm just cleaning up your...House. Little spring cleaning day, alright?" he gestured to the rockpool, then pointed out to the ocean. The mermaid's bright eyes flicked over, then back to him. "I'm gonna re-fill it. I promise. I told you that you could trust me, okay? I'm not gonna feed you just to let you dry out like wet laundry". 

His voice seemed to soothe somewhat - or at the least he seemed to have garnered a little curiosity - so he kept talking, low and soothing each time he carefully scooped out water. His arms and spine were already starting to ache after a few buckets, so he set it down and stood upright, stretching out as he looked across the beach.

"Do you have people out there, huh?" He asked softly, glancing down at the mermaid. It had curled itself up in a ball, clutching at the edge of the rockpool like it would try to drag itself out at any moment. "Someone waitin' for you? I guess you're kinda cute. You've probably got some mermaid ass waiting out there for you. Family. Unless you guys are loners". 

He took in deep breaths then picked up the bucket again. The rockpool, deep as it was, held a surprising amount of water. He was truly aching by the time he decided to call it quits, puffing out a breath as he flopped back on his ass. He'd gotten rid of enough water that the level of it had dropped about a quarter below the thickness of the mermaid's tail. Unobscured by the water its depths of colour and slight shimmer was even easier seen, and Mark found himself settling, staring at it in fascination. It was almost holographic, three-dimensional in its rich hues of blue. He itched to touch it again, to feel the almost plastic-y sensation of the scales, but he knew that would be far from well received. 

Not wanting the mermaid to dry up or feel uncomfortable, he ground his teeth and picked up the bucket again, trekking down to the water. The soft, wet sand made his face scrunch and he was thoroughly disgruntled when he realised he'd need to wade in a little to fill the bucket up. The water made his boots soggy and his trousers stick uncomfortably to his ankles, and lugging the full bucket of water back up the beach had him red-cheeked and panting.

"God, why didn't Alex just have me doing this?" He groaned, setting down the bucket and shaking out his arms for a moment. He tried to work out how many buckets he'd emptied from the rockpool, and groaned again when he realised he had several more trips ahead of him. 

Resigned, he hauled the bucket back up and ignored the creature's hissing as he stooped down to the edge, puffing out breaths as he tripped the bucket. The mermaid jerked away then seemed to realise it was only water, and bright eyes widened, watching it pour out until it was empty.

"Uh huh. Clean stuff, just for you, bud," he panted, setting the bucket back down and laying his arms over his thigh, watching as the mermaid dropped its gaze down to the water. It stretched out its hands, seemingly feeling through the water as if trying to figure out what Mark had poured in. Its tail uncurled a little, flopping through the water and sending a cascade of ripples through the pool. 

"Don't get too excited just yet, bud. We got a few more of these to go," he advised, before he pushed himself to his feet. The next several trips were just as taxing and he knew he'd be feeling this for all of tomorrow. By the third bucket the mermaid seemed to have sort of realised what he was doing, and now it was twisted around, arms folded on the edge of the rockpool to watch him trekking up from the water. It seemed almost content, watching him with an expression decidedly more gentle than its usual disgust. He wagered this could be the last bucket - the water level was back above the mermaid's tail and honestly; he didn't think he could handle another trip. All he wanted was a hot mug of coffee and a shower so hot it felt like cleansing himself in the flames of Hell. 

The mermaid had gone so long without sticking his head under the water that his hair was completely dry. Where Mark had presumed mermaids would have long hair, or perhaps even _no_ hair, the mermaid's hair was longer on the top and front, flopping almost stylishly into his eyes. The sides of his hair were a little shorter, and now it was dried it looked wavy and bouncy. Maybe not quite soft, but beach-tussled and a little windswept in a manner almost deliberate. He looked young like that, with a slim face and a sharp jaw. Mark wondered briefly how old he was, if mermaids aged differently to humans.

"Being dry doesn't seem like its good for you," he mused as he picked up the bucket. He almost didn't think about it; stepping as close as the mermaid would let him get without hissing, tipping a small shower of water over its head. It just seemed like The Thing To Do. 

The creature spluttered and hissed, twitching out from underneath the torrent. His hair had been flattened to his face and he looked about as pleased as a cat that had just been dunked inside a sink. Running his hands through his hair, the mermaid snorted out a breath that teetered on the edge of a growl. Narrowed eyes looked up at the human and the creature bared pointed little teeth at him as he snickered softly. He was so amused by the look of sheer outrage that the mermaid pinned on him that he didn't notice the way its tail curled in the water, fin tilting so it was sideways instead of floating flat on the water. An expert flick of the tail send a decent enough splatter of water straight at his face and chest, and he barely closed his eyes in time to avoid the sting on salt water on his retinas. 

He blew out one long and steady breath and then spat the water that had gotten in his mouth, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe at his eyes. He could feel his hair sticking to his skin, could feel the uncomfortable sensation of his clothing sticking to his skin, soaking him ice cold. He sucked in another breath and wiped the rest of his face down, opening his eyes to stare at the mermaid. It had sunk down to its shoulders in the water, staring at him almost challengingly, though amusement seemed to glitter in his eyes. Mark let out a third breath and let the momentary flush of anger leave him, amusement creeping in when he realised the creature had _retaliated_ to a perceived sleight. 

"Alright. I'll let you have that one, bud," he smiled, crouching down to _carefully_ pour the rest of the bucket in. The mermaid stayed low, tail still tipped sideways so that one side of his largest fin flopped upwards out of the water like a shark fin. He watched it for a moment, entranced by the way it moved. Truly a thing of wonder - this mermaid. It hadn't attacked him, hadn't tried to hurt him. It had willingly eaten what he'd given it (albeit reluctantly) and had kept relatively calm during the whole re-filling. 

"Alright. I think that's enough for today. You did real good. Proud of you," he praised, scooping up his bucket again. He moved to the smaller one full of shells and contemplated it. With the mermaid taking up most of his time he found he didn't _need_ the pet project of fixing up the porch, so he supposed the shells could be left behind. Maybe an opportunistic crab or seagull would make good use of them, or whoever got the house next would find the little pile and find something to do with them. He dumped them out in the sand and dropped the smaller bucket into the big one, before he gave the mermaid a mock salute. 

"Sleepy easy, pal. I'll have to go back to the market in the morning to get you more food, but I promise I'll be back," he informed him, watching the mermaid watch him with a steady gaze. "You'll go home soon, I promise," he added, softer, gesturing to the mermaid, then to the ocean. It followed his gaze, turning slowly in the water to peek up over the edge of the rockpool, to stare out at the ocean. It folded its arms and pillowed its jaw there, and made the saddest sound that Mark had ever heard, a despondent, longing click-purr. His heart ached and sympathised and he turned away before he did something stupid like try to comfort it, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the sand, marching back to the house one footfall at a time. 

He was sitting on the couch, mid-way through an editing video and a bowl of veggies when his phone pinged. He thumbed open the message without even glancing at the screen and when he glanced down at it he stopped mid-chew. 

**[Amy]**   
**Hey. I'm...I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to check in. You've been ignored my calls. I'm worried about you. I know you're up at the house alone. I just want to know you're okay. Message me back when you feel like you can.**   
**[19:24]**

He stared at it for long that his phone timed itself out, the screen going dark and showing him his own face. Half-dried, messy hair and dark purple bags under his eyes. Corners of his mouth turned down and tiredness etched into every feature. He looked haggard; even more so than he ever had when he'd had a steady job back home. But then, of course, back home he'd had Amy and his friends and a house he loved. He had weekends watching his friends get drunk, he had a ring hidden in the garage that he'd thought about every night. He'd had a future. 

Now...

Now he had goals, sure. He had to sell this place, hope that it left him enough money to rent a place back in LA long enough to get another job. He had to figure out what to do with the ring in a box in the glove compartment of his car. He had to figure out what the fuck he was going to do with his life now that the plan of a wife, dog and seaside house were torn up scraps of paper floating away in the wind. He supposed he had to be thankful that they hadn't lost too much money on planning the wedding; they'd only gotten a few of the standard viewings and plans out of the way before Amy had sat him down one day, tears in her eyes as she handed him back the ring he'd spent four months picking out. 

He stared at himself for a little longer, lost in thought, then blinked himself back into reality. His vegetables were cold and laptop had paused itself and gone into sleep mode too. With a light cough he shifted and thumbed his phone open again, sucking in a growled breath before he forced his thumbs to move. 

**[Me]**   
**I'm fine, thanks. Got a lot on the to-do list so I'm being kept busy. There's no need to check up on me. Give Henry my love.**   
**[20:01]**

He tossed his phone aside after tapping 'send' and immersed himself in the editing, powering through it until just before the early hours of the morning. It was a basic enough edit and he fell asleep there on the couch when it was done, head on his arm, staring out of the open window at the darkness surrounding him. He awoke with a grunt and a god-awful crick in his neck, and ache that had settled in his bones from skull to spine. The first port of call was to do his dishes from the night and to groan his way through some stretches, trying desperately to chase away the bone-deep aches from a day of exertion and a crappy sleeping position. A round of laundry later and then a fat breakfast of sausages, eggs, strips of pan-fried chicken and a few slices of toast deemed him ready to hit the market again. The job last night had net him another $50, so he figured he could throw ten bucks in the gas tank while he was at it. Driving back and fore the market was draining the tank steadily enough. 

In the reduced section of the meat and fish aisle he became acutely aware of the fact that someone was staring at him and he turned to find the woman from the last time stood there, chewing what looked like an old lollipop stick. He straightened up a little, surprised and semi-alarmed by her staring. "Oh, am I in your way?" He asked, taking a step aside. He'd only brought a basket with him today, and she eyed him beadily before leaning forwards to peer into it. The only things in the reduced section so far had been a packet of mussels and a somewhat sad looking cut of some kind of white fish. 

"Whole fish is what you want," she croaked at him, leaning back on her heels and eyeing him. "Packet stuff like that...Processed. Some'll turn their noses up at it". 

He blinked at her. 

There was no way she knew. 

Unless...

He squinted at her distrustfully, and she gave him a crooked smile. "You look like a fancy fella. From some big city. Big cities get the fancy processing plants. The fresher fish. We get the stuff's been on trucks for weeks. Fresh fish is what you want. Whole. Still with a bit'o the sea in them". He relaxed a little, glancing down at his basket briefly. Right; she probably just thought he had some fancy diet to stick to or that he was one of those 'clean eating only' people. Or maybe that he just had a fussy cat waiting for him back home. 

When he looked back up again she gave him another smile, gappy and broken-toothed. "You want to go to the _real_ market. Down on the beach. Look for Maguire, tell him Nora sent you. He'll give you a few mackerel for free t'start". She turned away before he could so much as stutter out a thank you, and he left the store, dazed and bewildered. He'd bought the mussels and the fish just because they were $2 each and because it was food in the man's belly, and then he slipped behind the wheel. He leaned forwards, peering through the windscreen as he steered the car out of the parking lot and down the twisting roads, gravel crunching under the tyres. 

It didn't take him long to find the long market. It was a tiny excuse for a market, honestly. There was a handful of stalls selling homegrown vegetables and fish fresh caught from the ocean. He cut the engine up on the hill just before the dirt and gravel harbour, pushing open the door and peering down at it as he shoved the door shut, folding his arms against the breeze. Handfuls of lives milled about below him, stories all of their own accord. He was a full stop on the page of their lives, nothing in comparison to their penned experiences. Their lives had been completely different to his, stories written in another universe.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and walked. 

He stopped at the first fish stall he came across. 'Stall' was a generous term for it. It was a large, fold-able table that had been laden with several plastic square buckets of sea water, each housing live crabs, mussels, barnacles and what looked like wild, tiny shrimp. He was watching them swim around when a gruff voice from above said "help you, lad?" And he looked up, brushing his hair from his eyes. The man before him looked like he'd stepped out of a classic Sherlock novel, weather-worn and in two parka coats. 

"I was told to look for a Maguire? I was reliably informed he could help me stock up on some fresh fish," he replied, shaking the man's hand when it was held out. His palms were rough like older leather. The man gave a nod, cracked tongue licking at his lips and eyes squinting as he looked up and over Mark's shoulder. 

"Oi! Lenny! Got one for 'ya. Nora sent you a real pretty one," he yelled, and Mark's brows lifting, surprise and embarrassment pink of his cheeks as he turned. The man that waved him over was even more weather-worn than the first, skin browned by the sun, a real cliché for a typical countryman. 

"Lookin' for fish, ya?" The man greeted him with a grunt. already moving to pick up a plastic tray. Mark looked down and found himself staring at several coolers of fish. They looked whole, dead but not gutted, and he peered down at them, humming in confirmation. "You lookin' for anything in particular? It for you or you got some cat you treat better than your lady?"

"Uh, for me. Though I'll probably...Give the scraps to the wildlife," he responded, watching the man grasp three gaping mackerel and set them down in the plastic tray. The old man eyed him but hummed and stuck his hand into a small bucket of what looked like limpets, prying them off each other and dumping them in the tray too. Three other small fish he didn't recognise joined the pile, then what looked like a small lobster (but he couldn't be sure). A handful of dark blue mussels seemed to complete the haul, and the old man pulled out a roll of saran wrap, winding three lengths around the tray to keep it stable.

"Call it fifteen even, see how you like the _real_ taste of the ocean. F'you plannin' on sticking around, we can somethin' out," the man grumbled, shoving the tray at him. He was too dumbstruck to argue as he pulled out his wallet and fumbled for the bills, handing them over as he assessed the loot and tried to evaluate it against the stuff he'd bought the day prior. This should all last the mermaid at least two and a half days, if he fed him according to what he had yesterday. Maybe even three if he cut down the portions a little. Certainly enough to bolster the creature's energy and put some fuel in the tank to get him from rockpool to ocean. 

He thanked the man and spent a little while wandering the tiny market, talking to the vendors and learning more about the area; the fish; the ocean. The cheerful woman behind a table full of earth-covered vegetables handed him a small white baggie of potatoes, carrots and radishes, patting him on the cheek and telling him if he ever wanted someone to share that 'lonely old house' with her daughter was single. He fended it off with a barked laugh and a fumbled retreat, scrambling back to the safety of the car where he buckled the tray into the passenger seat and leaned back, rubbing warmth into his fingers and watching them continue their lives, unaffected and unbothered by both his presence and his leaving. 

Billions of lives in the world. Billions of stories. 

How many knew besides him? What number was he on the list of those who had definitive proof that mermaids existed?

With a sigh he buckled himself in and hit the gas. He stopped to make himself a snack and check his emails when he got back, dismayed to find that the realtor had yet to get back to him, as did several of his job applications. He knew it would take time, especially with the real estate market being as dire as it was, but it was already hard to keep his head up and his optimism alive. He wasn't sure what he'd do with himself if he ended up stuck here for weeks or even months. Especially after he helped the mermaid back to sea and his days were no longer filled with visiting him. 

He took two of the fish out and put the rest in the fridge, then scooped in a half handful of mussels and two limpets. They didn't look all that appealing, but then, not a lot of seafood did unless it was prettily laid out on sushi. He stuffed the small packet of travel hand wipes he'd purchased form the store into his pocket and then made his way back down the second nature route of the hill, traversing the cove and heading back for the mermaid, who would hopefully not be _too_ grumpy at having such a late breakfast that it would now be considered a late lunch. As always he took a moment to pause and observe; close enough to see but not close enough to be noticed. Unless of course the mermaid was ignoring him deliberately, which was wholly possible considering. 

The mermaid was curled up within the water and for a split second his heart thumped, his mind automatically rushing him with _hedrownedhedrownedhedrowned_ before he managed to remember that the mermaid lived in the water _naturally_. With the panic fading he noted that the mermaid looked almost sweet, sleeping there. He'd folded his arms over a rock within the pool and was using it like a pillow, the water lapping at his right set of lashes, his hair half wet and half dried. His tail lay at the bottom of the water, a blob of colour that glittered in the mid-day sunshine. He crept closer and closer, and after a moments hesitation he pulled out his phone. 

He hadn't even thought about it, at first. Documenting the creature. At first he'd been too blindsided by its existence, and on the brief moment he _had_ thought about it he'd dismissed it quickly, still under the prickling apprehension that its existence held sanctity; secrecy. That it would be a risk to photograph it. But then...Who would believe him anyway? And if asked, he could say it was an image from Google that he'd found interesting or he'd saved to use for editing someone's video. Nobody had to know. Nobody had to believe. And it had been three days already (somewhere around twelve or thirteen if you counted the days prior where he'd been possibly unaware of the mermaid being trapped there), which meant nobody from the Government was coming to get it or they'd be here already. 

Nobody had to know. 

So he took several images of the mermaid sleeping, blissfully unaware or his presence, and then he noticed the shells. Where he'd dumped them in a pile last night several had now been taken and placed in a strange sort of spiral amidst the sand. Almost something you'd expect to see as evidence of aliens, not mermaids. It looked to be an eight pronged spiral, mid-way through construction. Running his fingertips over the shells lightly he wondered what this pattern meant to the mermaid. Was it a signal they used to mark where they lived? To show one of them needed help?

Did the mermaid think it would die here, and thus this spiral was some sort of grave marker?

He glanced up and jolted when he found himself being stared at. The mermaid had awoken but had declined to move save for lifting its head a little, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Afternoon, bud," he greeted cheerfully in a soft, low voice. The corners of the mermaids eyes crinkled a little like it was smiling, but he couldn't see his mouth. It was likely another bare of his teeth - the mermaid was not exactly the friendliest wildlife that he'd ever encountered. But he did know _one_ thing that made him a little more amenable to company. 

"I brought you lunch" he noted, holding up the lunch box. That garnered definite attention and the mermaid shifted, rolling further over onto its stomach and balancing on its elbows as it chirped at him soft, another series of rolling clicks and soft little burrs that Mark listened to curiously as he opened the lunch box. He ought to have brought some gloves, but the store hadn't had any and any sets that Mark might have owned before moving had either been thrown out or were still lost in the mess of unopened boxes that littered his house. Scrunching his nose in disgust he reached in to grab a damp, gross fish and almost dropped it in surprise at the loud, _excited_ sound that the mermaid threw at him, perking up like a dog shown a ball. 

He watched in fascination as the mermaid wriggled closer, eager to be fed something it recognised and evidently found appetising. He huffed a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of the mermaid's reaction spreading through him like sinking into a hot bath. It was the first real sign of happiness he'd seen from the creature since its injury and subsequent 'capture'. "You like that, huh?" He asked softly, showing the mermaid the fish. It _chirped_ at him, little mouth opening and eyes round and shining. "Oh, you want the fish? This fish? Y'know, I was thinking of eating it myself," he teased, and even thought he mermaid couldn't understand him it still seemed to burr in response, shuffling as close as it dared to watch him wave the fish around intently. He chuckled again and moved slowly and openly towards the edge of the rockpool, holding the fish by the end of its body and stretching out his arm slowly. 

It was met with caution but excitement, and no sooner had he extended his arm did the mermaid move, reaching out almost with grabby hands. Mark didn't know how long the fish had been out of the sea but he was getting it was a whole lot less than the packaged stuff, judging by the happiness the creature displayed as it inspected the fish, licking and poking and prodding before biting. Maybe it had even been caught that morning, or the night before. He figured he'd want the freshest food possible too, and couldn't really begrudge the creature of its lack of gratitude for its past meals. 

The mermaid made soft little noises here and there as it ate, ignoring him completely in favour of methodically and deliberately munching its way around the fish, spitting bones out onto the sand and using its little claws to peel heat from wherever it was too awkward for its teeth to reach. He watched for a long moment, then looked down at the rest of the food in the lunch box thoughtfully, the gears in his head turning. 

He might just have an idea.


	4. Trust Building (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little update before Christmas because I've seen the comments asking for more!  
> I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday time and that amidst all the hardship and struggles you find a moment of peace and joy. I know many of you are missing your families and friends at this time of year so if you're lonely, please don't hesitate to comment or leave your Tumblr tag and I'll pay you a visit through Anon!  
> -JJH

He did _not_ have an idea. 

Or, to put it more accurately, he was dismissing the tentative idea he'd formulated prior. Looking at the fish had made him think of how they travelled upstream and through channels; and he'd concluded that he could a trench from the tide to the rockpool, a channel of water that the mermaid could use to get back out to sea. Except that it was quite a distance from rockpool to tide (even when the tide was at its highest) and it would take him more or less a whole day to get it wide enough and deep enough for a mermaid to swim or crawl through. To say nothing of the fact that the rushing water could simply wash away the trench or re-fill it back up with moved sand. He only had a small shovel and he dreaded just thinking about the amount of work that it would take. 

He blew out a breath and sank back on his haunches, shaking his head. 

Maybe he could drive the car down here, make up a homemade winch and...No. It was impossible to get his car onto the cove. He wasn't going to risk adding the bills of fucking up his car to the current mess of his finances, either. Especially not when the only civilisation was miles away. He liked a cardio session as much as anyone but hauling his groceries back and forth was not where it was at. He'd spent the rest of the day poking around for ideas before returning home to eat, edit and sleep, and now he was back at the side of the rockpool, despondent as he tried to think of a way he could help the creature back into the water. 

There was a soft burr and he looked up, catching the mermaid staring at him inquisitively. For a brief moment he thought the creature had noticed he probably looked a little put down, but then he remembered there was still a handful of limpets in the lunch box. The mermaid had been downright _ecstatic_ to be fed a variety of sea life more or less fresh from the ocean, and had begun to look forwards to each visit, knowing it would be fed. Mark tried hard not to feel like he was Pavlov'ing the creature into accepting his presence. "Sorry, bud. I'm a little out of it today" he apologised, reaching into the box. For no reason other than his own curiosity and on the potential that he might have to touch the mermaid to help it get out, he'd started trying to coax it into giving him a little trust. 

Starting with the easiest bribe - food. 

He held the limpet cupped in his palm and extended his hand slowly. Mermaids (or at the least - this one) seemed to be very food motivated, which he supposed he could understand. Especially out there in the vast ocean where many, many creatures would go days before getting another meal. While the younger looking male was inherently displeased at being forced to interact with him in order to eat, they'd already made enough progress that the creature was capable of taking - very deliberately and carefully - food from his hand. He still somewhat snatched it, wary gaze alert and tail coiled like it was primed to smack him in the face if he tried to push this fragile boundary, but it was progress none the less. "My arm is starting to ache," he noted plaintively, and the mermaid blinked at him before huffing as though it understood his sarcasm, inching closer to stretch its own arm out and pluck the snack from his palm. 

He watched it eat, scraping its teeth along the inside of the shell and slurping the meal up, a flick of its short little claws enough to loosen the dead sea life from its house. Mark felt vaguely disgusted but supposed he couldn't judge much - he'd once eaten half a jar of medium sized pickles as a frustration based snack. The mermaid licked the shell clean of the last remnants of its inhabitant and then turned, one lean arm drawing back before it launched the shell off into the distance with a powerful throw. Mark watched it fade to not even a blip in the distance and wondered idly if he could make a fortune with a baseball team of mermaids. It was almost giving him a complex, how strong the mermaid was while being so deceptively trim and streamlined. They looked polar opposites of each other in every way. 

The mermaid was lean and pale and youthful and Mark was tanned and bulky and had looked thirty from the day he'd turned twenty; though thankfully the ageing process seemed to have halted there.

Another chirp and he thoughtlessly held out the last limpet, staring into the water as he let his thoughts consume him. He'd finally received an email back from the sales agent who'd said it wasn't ideal that the place was going back on the market so soon, but that the property was still desirable and it was likely to sell for the same if not a remarkably close fee to what he'd paid. Maybe even more, if he wanted to dedicate the time and money into fixing it up. 

He didn't. 

Another softly insistent sound and he dragged himself back to the present, looking down into the lunchbox then tipping it to show the mermaid it was empty. "Sorry, bud. All gone. Nothing more until dinner time," he noted apologetically. The mermaid looked at him, then the box, then back and forth another twice before it let out a resigned sigh and sank lower into the water. Its tail moved through the clear liquid, curling then arching upwards. Suspicious of being splashed again he watched warily as the mermaid lifted the end of its tail upwards and out of the water. He'd learned overnight that the large fin was called a 'fluke', and he watched it now as the water fan down it in a momentary waterfall, gliding off the membrane and leaving it flopped over in the air. He waited several moments and relaxed when it didn't seem like he was going to be retaliated against for the lack of food. 

There was still a good portion of distance between them so he dipped his fingers into the icy water, grounded by the feel of it swirling around his fingertips as he moved them idly back and forth, letting his mind drift back to the task of getting the mermaid back to the water. He could try to wrangle it with a rope and drag it down to the water, but he felt that would do more harm than good, both emotionally and physically. Besides - that notion required somehow actually getting a rope around it, and he knew it was unlikely. Especially when the mermaid was just as liable to chew or slice the rope apart. 

He glanced up thoughtfully and was surprised to see the mermaid watching his hand intently, eyes drifting side to side to follow the pattern of his movements. He slowed his hand down, letting it hang in the water as he watched the mermaid watch him. He turned his hand one way, then the other, then waggled his fingers lightly. After a moment of staring the mermaid shifted on its elbows and brought one of its own hands up out of the water from the wrist, observing its own appendage before it looked at Mark's, then back, curling its fingers a little. 

"Are you...Are you analysing our differences?" He asked after a moment, voice light and impressed. It was an inherently intelligent thing to do; blatantly and deliberately observing and comparing itself to him. The mermaid glanced up at him as it listened to his voice and he shifted, drawing his hand out of the water slowly and extending it, palm up as close as he dared. The creature squinted a little in mistrust but then relaxed, peering at his hand and then its own in turn. He rotated his wrist so the back of his hand was visible and the creature did the same, fingers flexing. "We're a lot more different that we just look, but at the same time we're not that far off, huh, bud?" He asked it gently, smiling. It blinked up at him then let out a soft clicking sound. 

"I wonder what sort of evolution or magic made you," he murmured thoughtfully, waggling his fingers and watching in thinly veiled delight as the mermaid copied him. The mermaid burred at him again then shifted, bracing itself further on its one elbow to bend its arm until its palm faced the water, hand flat and in front of his chest. Then he curled those fingers into a fist and moved his arm in a single circular motion, keeping his fingers pointed towards the water almost like he was stirring cake mix. It was an overtly deliberate move, and Mark could feel the surprise, excitement and awe settle into him like heat. 

It was _communication_. 

And not just sounds - this was in line with sign language. He let out a rushed breath and shifted, moving to copy the action as best he could. "Does it...Does this mean 'hand'? Is that what you're saying?" He asked tentatively, despite knowing that the mermaid couldn't understand him. He pointed to his own hand, then repeated the motion. The creature simply blinked at him, head tipping a little, before it waggled its fingers then made the circular act again. He scrambled to pull out his phone, moving cautiously enough that it wouldn't spook the creature that still seemed apprehensive of anything that wasn't food. They'd worked well past that mistrust. 

He set it to record and repeated the motion, waiting expectantly. The creature's expression changed to something almost mildly annoyed, like when you ask a young toddler to say 'mama' one too many times. There was a hint of something else there, too. Like when you adopt a puppy and start to wonder if it might just be a little _slow_ as it walks into the doorframe for the fourth time that morning, but then the mermaid repeated the act with a bored reluctance that let Mark know this would be the last time. He hurried to save the video and then tapped onto the file name, changing it to 'Hand (?)'

He looked back up but the mermaid's interest in him had been quashed and it had gone back to leaning with its arms folded over the other side of the rockpool, staring out at the lapping waves. Not for the third time he wondered if the mermaid had family or a mate that it was missing, longing to be back in the presence of. 

"You and me both, bud," he sighed quietly. 

He spent the night editing more videos, churning through two at once and accepting a brief call from Wade as he made himself something to eat late in the night. One good thing about living alone and with no neighbours to disturb was that he could cook whenever he wanted, he supposed. It was nice to hear his friend's voice again and he felt more soothed than wistful when the call ended, sinking back against the headboard and letting his head loll to stare out of the window.

Was the mermaid watching the stars? Was it sleeping beneath the water, peaceful and quiet? Was it trying to escape again, clawing its way back long the sand and stretching desperately towards the freedom and family it craved?

He fell asleep thinking about it. 

The morning was spent working on sourcing more editing jobs and harassing his real estate agent and surfing the property market of Los Angeles. He was so invested in getting things done instead of wallowing around that he barely noticed the time slide by until his stomach grumbled its desire for lunch and he realised with a start that it was already one in the afternoon and he'd forgotten to feed the mermaid. 

And wasn't that a strange thought? As if it was a goldfish or a particularly passive cat. He cursed softly and shifted, dragging on a thick hoodie and his boots before he scrambled to stuff some food into the lunchbox, putting in more than he ought to as a sort of balm for the fact that he'd denied the creature breakfast. He made the journey in record time, practically sliding down the slope of the hill and rounding the corner of the cove so tightly his shoulder scraped along a face of rock. The mermaid was laying on its back when he approached, starfished out and staring at the sky. For one heartbeat Mark almost thought it was _dead_ , but when it noticed him coming closer it rolled over in a mess of limbs and tail and water splashes, for the first time ever looking appeased by his presence. The mermaid pressed itself up against the side of the rockpool, looking somehow both pleased and disgruntled at being made to wait. 

"Hey, bud! I know, I'm sorry. Adult responsibilities got ahead of me. It won't happen again". It wasn't technically a promise he could keep, but it was one he was willing to at least put faith into for the moment. The mermaid burred at him again, soft clicks and rumbles before it shifted, moving its right hand up to its mouth. It folded all fingers except the index and middle, laying them flat and horizontal against its lips, touching the left corner. Mark watched in fascination as it dragged the fingers to the middle of its lips and then moved its hand down, until it lay its palm flat over its stomach and splayed its fingers. 

His heart fluttered. 

"What's that one, huh?" He asked softly, dropping down to one knee and reaching for his phone. The prospect of possibly being the first person to catalogue the language of a no-longer-mythological creature made him almost dizzy. "That you telling me to fuck off because I'm late?"

The mermaid's eyes dropped down to the box and it repeated the motion, barely a beat after Mark had tapped the record button. He followed its gaze and hummed thoughtfully. It could mean anything from 'hungry' to 'food' to 'fish'. It could even be _feed me, you prick_ for all he knew. He reached for the box as he went to tuck his phone away, cursing when his ankle wobbled and instead of grabbing the box he knocked it flying into the rockpool water. The mermaid shoved itself backwards and bared its teeth in alarm that faded far quicker than any of its earlier panics, high pitched clicks vibrating in its throat as it sank low into the water, nudging carefully towards where the box bobbed and floated. 

He watched with baited breath as the mermaid reached for it tentatively, little claws brushing the plastic, its tail poised and curled. He supposed that made sense - a lot of animals with solid, meatier limbs such as tails used them almost like clubs. It was a good defensive tactic. Pulling out his phone again, he began to subtly record the scene as he sank down to sit cross-legged. The mermaid paid him no heed, stalking the box as it bobbed around and brushing it with a light touch now and then - acclimating to its presence. Mark felt something akin to pride swell in his chest, mingling with amusement at the creature's curiosity and the slight fear that he might inadvertently be putting the mermaid at risk by conditioning it to engage with human plastic waste. The seas were filled with pollution, after all. 

Two or three minutes passed and then the mermaid shifted, curling up to lean against the side of the rock pool before it reached for the box. 

"Huh," was all Mark could think to say as he watched the creature turn it this way and that, shaking it and making soft burring noises at the food that rattled around within it. The mermaid risked a glance at him, still clutching the box, and it made a soft cooing sound, almost like a smoother pigeon coo. Mark shifted a little and made a gentle gesture towards the box, mimicking the way he'd previously opened it. "C'mon, bud," he coaxed, "you've seen me do it before. You can do it too. I believe in you," he encouraged. 

As if sensing the truth behind the words and in a display of cognitive comprehension the mermaid pawed at the latches of the lunchbox, little claws feeling around before its fingers flexed and the first latch popped open. Spurred on by his progress the mermaid made quick work of the others, tossing aside the lid carelessly and delving in for a chunk of fish. The mermaid used its tail to keep the box at 'hand' while it ate, disregarding Mark's presence in order to satisfy its growing stomach. He tucked his phone away after a moment, content to sit and watch. 

He could attach some rope to a tarp...Drag the mermaid down to the sea like he was using a sled. It would mean training/desensitizing the mermaid to it, though, which would take time. And whilst they were making astoundingly quick progress right now Mark wasn't all that convinced that the moment food wasn't involved the creature wouldn't decide it had had enough of him. 

By the time he dragged himself back out of his thoughts the mermaid was finishing up the last of the mussels, long and slightly pointed tongue curling into the shell to scrape up the last of the fish meat. Each empty shell was thrown away with considerable force and Mark wondered if that was a typical behaviour from the ocean or if that was the mermaid recognising that he had limited space and not wanting to clutter it. 

The mermaid moved for the box again and Mark cringed, already envisioning it being launched halfway to the moon by those powerful arms. Instead he watched, dumbfounded, as the mermaid twisted, its tail gliding through the water and unfurling to use the fluke fin to flick the empty container up onto the sand by his side. He couldn't even be irritated at the splatter of cold water that came with it, lips curling into a smile. "Thanks, bud" he offered, shaking out some of the sea water before he motioned towards the cast aside lid. "Can I have that too?"

The mermaid blinked at him then glanced at the lid, before it rolled over like a dog, tail coiling and flicking the lid at him in a cascade of water. He managed to use his arms to shield most of it, the cold of the water soaking through through to his knees and stomach. He tried not to be annoyed, he really did. It was hard, though. He'd be man enough to admit that. Breathing out a steady, long sigh he wiped half-heartedly at himself and looked up, watching the mermaid roll back around onto its stomach. It looked bored, for lack of a better insight, and Mark wondered idly if there was anything he could provide to stimulate the creature. 

He glanced aside at the shells, still in their intricate spirals. Artistic, or functional? Would the mermaid even be interested in something like a pool floatie or more shells?

"I'll think on it, bud" he promised, clasping the lid of the box and pushing to his feet. "Alright, say 'bye, Mark!'" He teased lightly, waggling his fingers before he pointed to himself. "That's me, by the way. Mark. Y'know, in case you wanna practise your vocals". He pointed to himself again, patting his chest lightly. "Mark," he labelled, one more time - just in case - before he turned on his heel and strode off. If he worked fast, he could shower, clean the car and have dinner before he had to come back to feed him again. 

He decided along the way that there was no harm in naming the mermaid. It wouldn't be around for long, and it was easier than constantly referring to it as 'the creature' and 'the mermaid'.

He just had to figure out a nice name.


End file.
